Waiting for the Eastern Glow
by Katowisp
Summary: Dean fulfills his destiny. One last time, from the ending.


Waiting for the Eastern Glow (The Sunlight Blinds His Eyes)

Author: Katowisp ( handle: )

Date: 3/Oct/2009

Disclaimer: Although one day I will create magnificent characters that other people will want to write about, today is not that day. Tomorrow probably isn't either.

Dean hurt. His fingers were curled around a patch of dried grass, the only remainder of life in a barren field. His blood was swallowed up by parched dirt and deliriously, he wondered if plants could grow from it.

No, too much iron. He could hear Sam's voice in his head. Fuck, where was he?

His body ached from the abuse Michael's presence had caused. It was cold. The fall air was brittle and he could hear the wind rake the skeletal trees. A dry summer in Chestertown, Maryland, had resulted in a lackluster autumn. The article had been placed next to the "missing people's article," and Dean's eyes had happened to catch it.

"Hey, dude, snap out of it," Sam was suddenly in front of him, snapping his fingers.

Dean blinked, and they were in Denver, at a local rotisserie. He shook his head and picked back up the menu. The memory had been so _vivid_, but Dean never remembered being in Chestertown, Maryland. (Had he even known it existed?) And Michael had never occupied his body. Dean stretched to pull at the daydream, but it faded.

Sam looked at him worryingly, but just for a moment, before his eyes were covered by shaggy hair, and he was buried in the menu. He flagged down a waitress. "I'll have the Miner's Cheeseburger."

"So where do we go next?" Dean smiled at Sam crookedly. Sam pulled out his laptop, scanning the local reports. He marveled at the hunters who had done this sort of thing, before there had ever been a Google, or a Wikipedia.

"Cheesman Park."

"Yeah? What's going on there?"

"When Denver was originally built, a parcel of land was set aside for the rich to bury their dead. Over time, it became something of a Potters Ground, lost credibility with the rich, and fell into disrepair. As the area grew, the Colorado senator at the time convinced congress to convert the land--"

"Yeah, yeah, blah blah. Get to the interesting part."

"Okay, okay. So this dude was hired to dig the unclaimed bodies up and move them to a new cemetery. But he decided he could make money off the project by hacking up bodies and putting them in children's coffins. Bodies were looted and body parts were lying all over the cemetery. The whole thing was blown wide open by the _Denver Post,_ and work stopped."

"Whoa, dude. Gross."

"Yeah. So anyway, nobody started the project back up, and bodies were left lying around; graves opened up and not closed for years. But they did start renovating the cemetery to make the park."

"With the bodies just laying around?"

"Yeah."

"That's some fucked up shit."

"Yeah. There are still two thousand bodies buried there."

"All right, but there's been nothing going on for the last hundred years, right?"

"Just normal haunting cues--noises, apparitions—that sort of thing. But recently they started working on the Southeast Corner, where the criminals and vagrants were dumped. The workers had reported a couple of incidents, but yesterday the bucket on the backhoe managed to crush a worker to death."

Dean tapped the table, looking intensely out the window. "There's no telling which ghost is causing the damage, and we can't burn that whole area of the park." He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug and let the heat warm his skin.

"We can set up protection, though. Like we did at—back in our house." Sam took a bite out of the burger, grease dripping into the fries on the plate.

"But that was for poltergeists, not ghosts."

"I...learned some new tricks. In the last year." Sam pushed at the fries on his plate, not meeting Dean's eyes.

"Then let's do it."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They wandered the park, enjoying the mild spring weather and mentally noting points of interest. The mountains loomed in the distant, heavily snow-capped—it would be a while before the summer melt would make any kind of impact, and even then, never on the highest peaks.

Fresh sunlight filtered through the cottonwoods, and Sam was glad he'd brought his hoodie. Colorado springs had a tendency towards change, and very rarely achieved the level of warmth Sam enjoyed.

"I've always liked Colorado," Dean said, interrupting Sam's thoughts.

"Really?" Sam threw his brother a look. Dean rarely mentioned his likes and dislikes, the ones that mattered, anyway.

"Yeah. The mountains are so—powerful. Like, they remind you that there's other shit, you know? That this was all here before us, and it will be here after us, and for a long-ass time."

"That's pretty deep for you."

"Well, you know," Dean shrugged, trailing off. They walked further, passing a kid playing soccer with his dad before Dean spoke again. "Lotta stuff happened recently. Just makes a guy think."

It was Sam's turn to shrug.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They were back just after midnight. The waxing gibbous gave them all the light they needed—a bright medallion in the sky that washed out all the desperate stars. There were enough homeless out that Sam and Dean didn't stand out. Luckily, they'd been able to acquire all the herbs they'd needed, had figured out where they'd store the bags, and now it was a matter of putting them were they needed to go.

As Dean was breaking out to the east, Sam stopped him. "Hey—Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean turned.

"Just—be careful." Dean grinned at him.

"Dude, this has to be one of the easiest thing we've done. I'm not going to let some freaking ghost get me." He sauntered off, and Sam lost sight of him as he passed beneath the encompassing shadow of a cottonwood. Sam sighed, heading for the western corner of the Potter's Field.

It was as Dean was slipping the bag deep under a gnarled root that he was almost caught by a ghost that came on swinging. He felt the will of the ghost fight to fling him against the nearby tree, but Dean concentrated and _pushed_ with his mind. The ghost, well-built and dressed like gentlemen looked surprised. Dean grinned at it. Maybe winning the Apocalypse meant a few decent benefits.

"You just simmer down," Dean said, crouching back down, "I'm just going to fix things here, and you can go home. Or wherever," Dean amended, because he still didn't know. He felt he had it in pretty good with a Reaper, and he couldn't even get her to spill the beans.

Job finished, Dean headed back to where he'd parted with Sam and waited. He saw ghosts shimmer in and out of existence. A mournful woman in Victorian dress paced the path ahead. She looked up at him, and Dean felt a jolt of surprise. Ghosts caught in loops of pain or fear weren't supposed to be able to acknowledge others. Dean could see tears pouring from her face. He looked around the deserted park. It was packed with ghosts.

Dean was very suddenly thoroughly freaked out, wishing Sam would hurry the hell up. He hadn't heard any shots, no surprised shouts, so he knew everything was okay.

A woman holding a baby meandered in front of him, and at this distance, he could see that both their faces were covered in oozing pox that would never heal.

A man came up to him dressed in a hospital gown, blood pouring from the corner of his mouth. There were stab wounds everywhere, and Dean cursed.

"Fuck, Sam. Where are you?"

And then Sam was there, jogging through the sea of ghosts, unaffected. The area within the potters ground was free from ghosts. "Sorry I took too long."

"They're everywhere!"

"The ghosts? I know," Sam glanced at a child playing idly in the dirt.

"Why don't we widen the protective circle? Send them all away? They're not violent, they're just—lost."

"We can come back tomorrow."

"Naw, man. We can do it now."

"It's too big, we have to push out to the botanical gardens."

"That's a lot of dead people."

"A lot," Sam agreed.

Dean shifted his weight, rolled his eyes, and acquiesced. "Bitch, you're just mad it's past your bedtime."

"Jerk," Sam said automatically, and the moment he did, he felt an unexplained wave of sorrow flush over him.

Damn ghosts.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They retrieved the bags during the day after a little more research indicated the edges of the graveyard. The ghosts were gone—or at least hard to see—and the brothers were enjoying their day, first walking through the park, and then the botanical gardens. The flowers weren't in full bloom yet, but the buds were on the trees and it would only be a few more weeks for them to reach full glory.

"No, dude. Hayes, Kansas is the lamest place we've ever gone."

"Dean, you're forgetting about West Virginia. Every town in West Virginia is the worst place."

"Oh—yeah." Dean shuddered. "Especially right there on the border with Tennessee."

"And the blue people."

"Oh, and the mothman was a pain in the ass. Okay, yeah, West Virginia sucks."

They stopped before a large, ancient cottonwood. "You left it here?" Dean asked. The tree was arced over the path, a large hole in its side.

"Yeah." They stood there for a beat.

"Well, I'm not sticking my hand in there."

Sam snorted and dug at the bag pushed deep in the hollow of the tree he'd dropped it in, worried about what critter might want to try a taste of Sam-hand.

"You dropped it in the tree? Like—what's his name? Boo, right? Boo Radley. From that book about mockingbirds."

Sam stopped rooting around in the tree to throw his brother a look. "You know, it always surprises me you know anything at all about literature."

A hurt look flashed across Dean's face for an instant before he became indignant. "I can count to ten, too, you know."

"Whatever, man. You just never seemed the type."

But then, there had always been a lot Sam hadn't known about his brother.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They were in the Pine Barrens in New Jersey chasing after the Jersey Devil when Sam caught sight of something standing between the trees that was not the creature they were hunting, and fear wrapped cold fingers around his heart, and for the briefest of seconds, Sam felt as if he would never be warm again.

The next morning they were in one of the numerous greasy diners New Jersey had lining its turnpike, and Sam caught a glance of the shadow out the window.

"We're going south."

"Oh yeah? Found a case?" Dean looked up from the newspaper. An uneaten special of the day sat next to him, reminding Sam of how much things had changed.

"Yes."

"Cool," Dean said, setting the paper down, "I like the South. A lot of hot women and beer."

As they traveled south, the dark figure traveled with them, and Sam had only felt like this once before: when the hounds were coming, and the greatest monster they'd ever known was staring at him out of a little girl's eyes and the zero hour had never come so fast, or so slow.

Dean tapped his fingers unconsciously to the beat of "The Battle of Evermore". A silence, too tense for Dean's liking, had settled between them. He didn't know what Sam was so riled up about, but Sam would come out and say it, sooner or later. "Hey," Dean said suddenly. "Do you ever wish you'd killed Dad?"

Sam nearly choked on the soda he'd been drinking. "What?"

"You know, if you'd killed him, when old Yellow Eyes was in him?"

"I dunno, I've never thought about it." Sam said.

There was a time when he'd thought about it every day.

"I wonder what would be different."

Their father wouldn't have lost his soul, and Sam wouldn't have died, and Dean wouldn't have sold his soul to save him and they wouldn't have started the Apocalypse, and all those people wouldn't have had to die. Sam knew this. He hated himself every single day for not having the courage to pull the trigger when it had mattered. But he remembered Dean's silent plea that night, and Sam knew that he couldn't have done differently for anything in the world.

Unless, of course, he'd known how it would've turned out.

"It doesn't matter."

"No," Dean agreed, "I guess it doesn't."

She caught up to them in New Bern, North Carolina, in the garden of Tryon Palace. The garden was peppered in marigolds and late summer roses, and large pumpkins glowed a happy orange in their patches. They had taken an unusual side detour, Dean insistent on appreciating the local sites, for once. He and Sam studied the statues; the autumn leaves crunching under their feet.

Dean was wandering ahead to stand on the banks of the river when Sam felt her presence behind him.

"It's been a year," she said softly, soothingly. Sam watched his brother, refusing to turn around.

"I can't. Not again."

"We made a deal."

Sam never wanted to make a deal again. Dean was crouched at the water's edge and was studying the water intently, lost in his own world. He occasionally threw rocks into the water, and seemed content to watch the ripples. He glanced back to look at Sam.

"You know this is the birth place of Pepsi? Let's make sure to hit the soda fountain up before we go."

"Tomorrow," she whispered, and was gone.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The trees were turning, brilliant golds and reds and the way was quiet on Route 20—it was always quiet on the back roads. They rolled into town just after five.

"Chestertown?" Dean said. "Sounds familiar."

"They hold a tea party here in May. It was once a famous port, second to Annapolis."

"Well, why the hell are we here?"

"A haunting."

"Of course. Why can't they just stay at rest?" Dean asked. "Man, I could go for some pumpkin soup."

They sat on a bench that overlooked Town Square until well after the sun was set and the street lamps had flickered on. Sam had a chill that was only partly due to the autumn wind. College kids tramped around the aged brick walkways, and then they, too, left.

But they weren't alone.

"Tessa," Sam said, feeling like he was a thousand years old. Dean started, the Reaper appearing in the space between them.

"Hey, what the hell? Tessa?"

"Dean," Tessa said in that voice, the one that managed to capture sadness and finality so well. "It's time."

And Dean had heard those words before, in a different life, in a different place. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm not dead."

Tessa and Sam shared a look, and Dean felt his stomach drop away from him. Sam's eyes were ringed in red, and tears hung in the corners of his eyes.

Tessa was looking at Sam carefully. "Will you keep your promise?"

"Tessa, what the hell is going on?" Dean asked, his voice edged with panic.

"Yes," Sam said resolutely, desperately.

"Sam, dude, what the hell?"

"You died, Dean. A year ago tonight."

"Bullshit," Dean said automatically.

"Tessa…because we saved her, she let you stay."

"I didn't die," Dean said instinctively. "From what? We saved the world."

"It was my fault," And this time the tears fell, and Sam wiped them away.

"I don't know what's going on," Dean said desperately. Tessa had captured his hand in hers, and Dean looked in her eyes and saw the ancientness there and he felt very small.

"It will be okay," she said.

"No, it won't."

"This time, it will be. Sam, you have to keep your promise."

Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small case designed to hold business cards. He flipped it open, but instead of cards, the holder clasped a lock of hair. Dean snorted.

"You kept my hair? Weirdo."

"I burned your body. This is all that's left. When it's gone—" Sam stopped talking. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Don't be." He was weary, and he could feel time pulling on him. "Get out of the business, okay? Go have a family. We saved the world, you deserve it."

"Dean—"

"Just tell your kids some stories about their crazy Uncle Dean, okay?" Dean gave his brother a jaunty salute. "I'll see you on the other side, Sam. Just…take as long as you want, okay? There's no rush, don't be stupid."

Sam stared at his brother, wanting to say all the things he'd had a lifetime to say, but like the first time, the words caught in his throat.

"It's okay. I know. Burn it."

And he did.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean hurt. He felt painfully empty, a vast hollowness in him where Michael had vacated. They had faced down the Devil and won, but the presence of Heaven's greatest angel took its toll on Dean's human body. He curled his fingers around a patch of dried grass, the only remainder of life in a barren field. His blood was swallowed up by parched dirt and deliriously, he wondered if plants could grow from it.

No, too much iron. He could hear Sam's voice in his head. Fuck, where was he?

It was cold. The fall air was brittle and he could hear the wind rake the skeletal trees. A dry summer in Chestertown, Maryland, had resulted in a lackluster autumn. The article had been placed next to the "missing people's article," and Dean's eyes had happened to catch it.

Chestertown, fuck. Of all the places to die.

Dean wanted to get up, but the wound was deeper, wider than anything he'd ever gotten before and blood poured from him at unprecedented rates. It hurt, but only vaguely now. Tessa was there, waiting patiently. She held his hand in hers, stroking his hair back. Behind her, Castiel stood, resplendent in all his glory, returned to the hosts of heaven. His time on Earth had marked him, and despite his peaceful expression, an undercurrent of sorrow worried his features.

"Sam," The words bubbled up through blood. He wanted to say goodbye, wanted to say something. If he had known accepting Michael meant certain death, he would've continued rejecting him. But they had wanted to win, _needed_ it. What was his life, for everybody else's?

He wanted his brother by his side.

He wanted that, at least. Michael owed it to him. Heaven owed it to him. It was his right. Dean fought to lift himself up, ready to curse Heaven with his last energy. He fell back abruptly, his collapse caught by large, familiar hands.

"I'm here, Dean." Sam said, his voice catching.

"Oh, good." Dean said, smiling through bloodstained teeth. Sam looked at Tessa sharply.

"I want to make a deal."

"I owe that much to you," Tessa agreed. "So do they," she said with a nod towards the sky. "One year. He'll be a ghost, too, but he won't know it. Then I must take him."

"One year," Sam agreed.

He had done it before.

He would do it again.

Fin~

"They'd spent their whole lives making other people safe, and now all he wanted was to be safe, too. "

Author's notes:

Chestertown, Maryland is on the Eastern Shore and as fitting a place as any for the final battle.

Cheesman Park really does exist, and all those bodies are really still there in the park. It is supposed to be incredibly haunted.

A million thanks to Rebecca, an old friend and a literature master who brushed this up from mediocrity. Any further mistakes are my own.


End file.
